


let's not get selfish

by CoralFlowerBad (CoralFlower)



Series: no no no [2]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: (in a dream), Autistic Character, Autistic Peter Parker, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Tony Stark, Emotional Manipulation, HEY ALSO, Internalised ableism, M/M, Suicidal Ideation, Wet Dream, but the dream is described explicitly enough that the warning is necessary, god thats such an awkward tag, otherwise youll wanna read the first one first, part of a series, stands alone if you are good at inferring things, stay safe nyall, the dream is very dubconney!!!, the underage is in a dream, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-12-15 08:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11802108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralFlower/pseuds/CoralFlowerBad
Summary: “Why were you looking up fanfiction,” the word rolls off his tongue like an expletive, and you shudder, “at three AM? Fanfiction about the two of us, Peter, really, I know you want attention, but this just seems a little extreme.” You look back up at him to see that he’s watching you shrewdly, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t you think?”(if depictions of emotionally abusive behavior are iffy for you, then you probably shouldn't read this.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the stunning weird sequel to the original awkward vent fic. still a vent fic. if youre looking for peter/tony that glosses over the age gap this isnt a fic for you.
> 
> also even if i write more of this theyre never gonna fuck. or do anything like that. so if thats what youre wanting maybe just uhh quit here.
> 
>  **one last warning before we begin:** if you are triggered by depictions of emotional abuse or manipulation, this fic will probably be bad for you! please stay safe.
> 
>  
> 
> [epigraph source](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQ17Tm_qUIE)

_ No no no, you know it will always just be me... _

 

* * *

  
  


_ The click of your bedroom lock makes you flinch. You should have noticed someone coming, and it’s really weird that you didn’t. You must have zoned out. And it makes more sense once you realise who it is; of course, he’s the only one who can sneak up on you.  _

 

_ You look up into the eyes of Tony Stark, and immediately flush. His expression is grave. _

 

_ “Mr. Parker,” he says. _

 

_ You nod, unable to bring yourself to respond verbally. There’s a weird tightness to his movements as he takes a step towards your bed and holds out his phone, which projects a holographic display into the air. His mouth twists, and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. He isn’t pleased with you.  _

 

_ “Would you mind explaining this, to me?” _

 

_ You squint and lean closer to get a better look at it, and quickly realise that it’s your browsing history.  _

 

_ “That’s, uhh, that’d be my internet history, sir.” You look up to study his face, which is inscrutable now, half in shadow. He catches you staring, and you drop your eyes to the carpet. _

 

_ “Why were you looking up fanfiction,” the word rolls off his tongue like an expletive, and you shudder, “at three AM? Fanfiction about the two of us, Peter, really, I know you want attention, but this just seems a little extreme.” You look back up at him to see that he’s watching you shrewdly, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t you think?” _

 

_ You open your mouth to try to explain that you didn’t do it for attention, you didn’t even know he was monitoring your internet, but his gaze morphs into something more speculative than anything else, and you’re left gaping, because you doubt you could think of anything more compelling than his eyes studying you like that. Like you’re a painting in a museum. _

 

_ “Close your mouth.”  _

 

_ Your jaw snaps shut, and you duck your head, cheeks burning. _

 

_ “Mr. Stark, I-- I promise I wasn’t trying to, to bother you or anything--” _

 

_ “Save it, Peter.” _

 

_ His voice cuts across you like a door slamming shut, and you make a noise that sounds almost like a sob. _

 

_ The bed dips, and your head snaps up to look at him. There’s a hand on your thigh now, and your heart is racing, and your anxiety is screaming at you not to look down in case he lets go. _

 

_ “S-sir?” _

 

_ You can normally hear the whole city in here even when you’re deeply focused, but somehow the only sound in the whole world is his heart beating as he purses his lips and looks you over, eyes darting down and then up and then down and up again. And he leans in-- _

 

_ “Down, Peter.”  _

 

_ His voice in your ear is heavy, and his tone is firm. You slide off your bed without question to kneel where he’s pointing, in between his legs, and then you look up at him. _

 

_ “Mr. Stark?” you say, voice shaky, “Mr. Stark, why are you--” _

 

_ “I hope you didn’t expect to get all of my attention, Peter.” _

 

_ You gasp at his words, and then his hand is on the back of your neck all of a sudden, you don’t remember him putting it there, but as your eyelids flutter you struggle for words and finally manage to choke out, _

 

_ “Sir--” _

 

_ “I could ask you to do anything, isn’t that right,” he says, “and you would do it.” _

 

_ Your mouth opens before you come up with anything to say. His eyebrows twitch upwards in an are-you-serious sort of way, and you swallow and look back down, ashamed.  _

 

_ “This is pathetic, kid.” His voice isn’t harsh or mean, just exasperated, which is almost worse. He shakes his head like what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you-you-troublesome-child.  _

 

_ “I-- I know, Mr. Stark, I’m sorry,” _

 

_ “You’re sorry,” he repeats, rolling his eyes. “Right.” _

 

_ You whimper as his fingers take hold of your hair, and a shiver runs down your spine. Everything is so intense now; he’s touching you, he’s touching you, he’s touching you.  _

 

_ “The thing is, Peter, I don’t believe you.” _

 

_ You choke on a sob, and then just hold your breath so you won’t start crying, because with Tony Stark, looking cool is more important than oxygen. You can’t bring yourself to look at him; he sounds so...  _

 

_ Disappointed isn’t even the right word, because that implies emotional investment on his part. He sounds like he doesn’t really care, like he’s just annoyed to have to spend time on this. _

 

_ “Sorry, sorry, really, I’m--” _

 

_ “Prove it.” _

 

_ You nod wordlessly, and unzip his fly as you try to calm down. It’s not working; your hands are shaking, and your breath comes in quick gasps. _

 

_ And then your hand is on his cock and you’re trying to figure out exactly how to do this, because fantasising is one thing, but this? This is for real. You look up at him uncertainly, and his expression is impatient. Your cheeks heat up, and you look back down. _

 

_ “Mr. Stark--” _

 

_ “What now, kid?” _

 

_ You swallow the bitterness and shrug. _

 

_ “Nevermind.” _

 

* * *

  
  


You wake up feeling sick to your stomach, and roll over onto your side to curl up in a ball. As you hug your knees to your chest, you feel a few tears slipping out of your eyes, and mutter a cuss word under your breath. You don’t want to be turned on right now. This is messed up.

 

You feel like he’s right, though. Like even though he never said outright that you’re a burden he wishes he never tried to shoulder, you can tell it’s true. You get into trouble too much. 

 

_ It was a dream, _ you tell yourself.  _ Just a ridiculous dream. _

 

You’re anxious now about what the real Tony Stark would think if he knew about you looking up fanfiction. Would he confront you about it? Would he expect an apology? Would he shove you to your knees and make you prove you meant it?

 

You shudder, and immediately suppress that line of thought. If you start hoping for it, that’ll leave you vulnerable. You have to actually speak out loud to remind yourself this wouldn’t be a good thing,

 

“He’s a middle-aged adult, he could fuck me over so easily and if he’s interested that means I gotta get the fuck out.”

 

You shut your eyes and just listen to the city, the cars and shouting even though it’s very late at night. The city never sleeps. You doubt that you’ll manage it either. Oh well. It’s not like you expected to anyway. Just the fact that you managed to sleep long enough to hit a REM cycle is a surprise to you. You roll over to face the door, and don’t even bother to correct yourself when you notice that you’re wishing the dream was real. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment if you liked this! im considering writing more; i have some dialogue kinda mapped out (actual dialogue that's not just a dream? in _my_ story? it's more likely than you think) but i just want to make it clear: if i end up polishing that up, this story still will not include any peter/tony thats not one-sided.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for mentions of suicidal ideation, internalised ableism

He shows up in your room, he’s there when you get home, and you stop dead in your tracks. He’s sitting on your bed, and he gestures at you to come in. You do, and he stands up to shut and lock the door behind you. 

You’re hyperaware of how shaky your voice is when you ask him,

“You... Is this actually real? What are you doing here?”

He cocks his head just so to the side, still standing between you and the door-- there’s always the window, though-- and asks,

“I get doubting it the first time, but why would you think that now? Especially with every other time you’ve seen me since then,”

“What, thrice?” you bite out, bitterly, and glare at the floor. He heaves a sigh, and continues.

“As for what I’m doing here, we found something, ah... _worrisome_ in your search history,” you make a mortified sort of choking noise, “and before you freak out, we aren’t looking at everything, just watching for phrases that indicate self destructive behavior.”

You frown. 

“You mean--”

“Yes, I do mean.”

“That was-- that was just-- I wasn’t gonna _do_ anything, besides I already know I can’t fucking _die_ from this shit--”

“Do you kiss your mother-- fuckin’ _gorgeous_ aunt with that mouth? And yes, you _can_ die, Mr. Invincible Teenaged Spider Boy. What I’m worried about is _how_ you think you know this.”

His gaze is piercing, and his expression is severe. This is the most serious you think you’ve seen him, except possibly the last time. You swallow weakly and look away. 

“Can I phone a friend?”

He sighs heavily. 

“Talk to me, Peter. There’s something going on, isn’t there, something I don’t know about. Something that explains both the searches about,” he gestures instead of saying it out loud, and you grimace at the weirded out look on his face, “and this... this whole _doubting reality_ thing you apparently have going on.”

You swallow. 

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

He sits down beside you on the bed, and you flinch, but he doesn’t touch you, just says,

“You can start with the second question if that’d be easier for you.”

You avert your eyes, and mutter,

“I’ve been having dreams.”

He pauses before answering. 

“...Dreams?”

“...about you,” you admit, voice barely louder than a whisper. You chance looking at his face, and see his eyebrows shoot up. You flush. 

“What sort of dreams?”

You don’t say anything, instead just avoiding eye contact and trying to stop blushing. You’re pretty sure he infers _what sort_ from your embarrassed behavior. 

“Oh. Wow. God, damn.”

You nod, still unable to look directly at him, and he takes a deep, shaky breath and mutters _damn_ under his breath once more. He gets up and opens the door, leaves it open, and doesn’t sit back down. He leans against your bookshelf instead.

“...You know this isn’t-- I don’t feel anything like that towards you. At all. I might be bi, and I get that we get a bad rap from the media, but I’m not a pedophile. And this,” he gestures between the two of you, “is never going to be like _that_ , because that isn’t what you need from me and honestly, Peter, that’d be fucked. Not because we’re both men, mind you-- though of course it’s alright if you aren’t, you know, a guy, after all, you can be spider- _woman_ or spider- _person_ if that’s what feels right to you--”

“I know! Okay, I know all that. I just... I want you to notice me anyway, it feels like you don’t want me around at all, like I’m just some... some big regrettable _mistake_.”

And there it is. You’ve said it now. 

“Peter--” he starts, but you shake your head at him. You can feel tears in your eyes. Fuck. 

“No, really, say it, don’t just lie. You regret this, don’t you, you wish you never brought me to Germany or, or anything. Any of it.” 

He swallows, and looks away. There's three heartbeats of silence that seem to stretch on for minutes before he finally says,

“Okay. Yeah, fine. I regret bringing you into this.”

You nod, and look away, already opening your mouth to choke out an acceptance, because you knew, you knew this would be the end.

“But,” he says, “but. That’s not because of you, Peter. It’s because I can’t handle this. I’m not good enough at having my act together to-- to be an effective mentor. I should be paying more attention, I should be here for you to talk to _before_ it gets to the point where you’re having a crisis about the whole superhero thing and looking up ways to kill yourself. You’re a good kid, Peter, don’t you ever think it’s your fault I made a bad choice.”

And that’s... it, you’re crying and rocking back and forth in a way you haven't done in quite a while. He puts a hand on your shoulder and you make a weird noise and brush him off. (It still feels bitter in your chest, being a _bad choice_.)

“Oh, damn, Peter... Are... Are you gonna be okay? What can I do here?”

You shrug, but really you just want him to go away. 

“Should I get your aunt,” you shake your head, “I think I should get your aunt,” he stands up and takes a step towards the door, and you grab his wrist. 

He stops, even though you’re just a scrawny kid and he could pull away and keep going anyway. You pull out your phone, navigate to an emergency meltdown chat app you downloaded months ago when someone else needed it, and one-handedly type out,

_Hey just because I’m being distressed in a way you don’t get doesn’t mean I can’t get calm again on my own. Quit panicking it’s not helpful_

You hold the phone out, and he takes it. You let go of his wrist. His eyebrows go up, and you brace yourself, because you know what he’s about to say even if you don’t want to hear it, _Great, I brought a_ \-- you don’t let yourself even think this word-- _along with me to save the world_ , or something similarly disparaging. You wish you could feel things the normal way. 

He sticks the phone back in your face and you take it automatically. 

_What do you need that’s different from what I’m used to?_

You rock faster, but a little bit more in a relieved way now, and clumsily type out,

_Can you just go_

He’s a lot better at words when he types them instead of talking, you notice. More concise, anyway. More proper sounding. It’s weird and sort of unsettling. You add,

_also you type really different from how you talk and it’s weird_

He snorts softly at that, when you hand him the phone.

_You type pretty different too, kid. I’ll go. Be safe._

You nod without looking him in the eye. He leaves. 

You know he’s not really leaving you alone, not after the conversation you just had; he’ll be watching to make sure you don’t jump out the window or try to drown yourself in the bathtub. But this way you don’t have to face him; you can pretend that conversation never happened. You think you’ll do so.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is heavily based on me about a month ago. its weird cus i wrote peter as suicidal a couple days before i realised that i was too
> 
> (im doing way better now, im enthusiastically glad to be alive.)
> 
>  **warning for:** disordered eating, vomiting, references to another dream  
>  (if i missed any warnings please let me know!)

You dream about him again. You’re halfway to the bathroom before it hits you but then you’re too busy throwing up to berate yourself for it. 

By the time you finish you can barely remember it. You know he was taunting you, derisive, the opposite of yesterday night. You know he made fun of you for your little crush. The exact words are fading pretty quickly from your mind, but you’re pretty sure he called you pathetic. 

You don’t think you could sleep right now even if you wanted to. Your stomach is tying itself in knots, and everything in you feels weird and shaky. You get out your phone and see the time, 4:30 AM, and decide that it’s not worth sleeping anyway. 

You still feel nauseous at breakfast time, so you skip it and head out the door. You don’t eat lunch; you forgot to bring your own and you feel like if you buy lunch something bad’ll happen. 

You aren’t really sure what happens in class after lunch except that your phone buzzes with a message from Tony telling you to text him if you need support for anything. Like you’d ever bother him with any of that.

You bring your dinner up to your room, citing homework you have no intention of doing and a need for quiet that hasn’t actually been satisfied by moving to your room since the Incident. In other words, you lie because you don’t think you have the energy to chew and swallow food. And it’s pathetic. 

A headache starts pounding away at your brain, making it impossible for you to parse individual sounds, so you flinch hard when he suddenly opens your door, a look of concern on his face. He says something that you know has to be words, but you can’t get any meaning out of it. 

“What?”

He repeats himself, but you still can’t figure it out, so you furrow your brow and settle on a shrug in response. 

He frowns, and looks at you confusedly. You shift, feeling pretty uncomfortable. 

He says more things, and you just stare at the wall trying to force your brain to catch the words. It makes your headache worse. 

Finally he gives up on verbal talking and hands you a water bottle, which you stare at kind of blankly. You’d like to sleep, maybe, or something. 

_When was the last time you ate?_

Your phone buzzes with the message. You look down at it and shrug. 

_Please drink some water_

You shake your head, and type in your passcode to reply,

_can’t. food is a Bad and i can’t handle swallowing a thing??_

You feel your cheeks start burning at the way you phrased it, because your grammar is real weird right now, and he heaves a sigh and texts back,

_Did you have another dream?_

You pause for a long moment, probably confirming it better than a response would’ve, and then delicately shrug. 

_Do you want to talk about it?_

_you called me pathetic_

You type it out and send it before you can change your mind, and he winces when he reads it. 

_You aren’t pathetic, Peter._

You swallow when you read it, and blink rapidly to try not to cry. It absolutely does not work. And he’s still typing. 

_You’re doing the best you can in an impossible situation, that’s the opposite of pathetic. Peter, you’ve been forced to deal with things a kid your age shouldn’t have to face. None of your peers are going through this, with all the pressure to save the world. You’re having a hard time because this situation is bad, not because you’re bad._

You sob, and hug your knees to your chest.

_thank you_

_It’s really no problem. Please drink some water. I see you have a plate of food up here, can you try and take a couple bites of that for me?_

You shrug, and pick up the water bottle to uncap it, and when you raise it to your lips intending to take a sip and almost chug it instead, you realise how thirsty you are. The food looks a lot more palatable when you lower the water bottle, though you still feel sort of sick to your stomach. Maybe you can have a bite or two. 

You look up at Tony Stark for a moment and then look away. He looks concerned, but not angry, so that’s probably good.

“...think you could talk now?”

You flinch when you realise he’s saying something, and shrug reflexively, then think better of it and shake your head. 

_Please eat some food. It doesn’t even have to be healthy, okay?_

You shrug again, feeling kind of ridiculous about shrugging so much. He sighs. 

_We’re gonna get you through this, Peter, I promise._

You don’t respond, but you feel a tear run down your cheek as you look at the wall. You want him to mean that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment if you liked this! i dont have plans to write more but i might if enough people want it. it sort of depends on my mental health tbh


End file.
